


Half Us, Half Other

by clio



Series: where the falling stars live [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Porn with Feelings, Sex Education
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29625774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clio/pseuds/clio
Summary: Let it not be said that he was not a diligent student. Or that he couldn't take direction.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Omera
Series: where the falling stars live [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2176716
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23
Collections: Mandomera Week 2021





	Half Us, Half Other

**Author's Note:**

> Set on Sorgan, although at an unspecified time.
> 
> prompt: exploration & discovery

Of course she’s heard the age-old saying that patience is a virtue, but, like with most platitudes, she’s not given much thought to it beyond a passing acknowledgment. To have patience was good. Or, rather, to be patient was to _be_ good. Yet, in all of her years, she’s never had her understanding of it put to the test.

But with his head trapped between her thighs, Omera certainly does not _feel_ particularly virtuous.

She lets out a string of colorful curses. 

It isn’t because it’s bad or that he, with his untrained mouth, isn’t _good_.

It’s that it is good. That it's all _too_ good.

That he—with his full lips, soft tongue, and heartbreaking eagerness to please her—and all the feelings of hunger and longing and the keen sense of wild, reckless desire he inspires in her, is good to the point of frustration.

Because she knows she could just tug on his hair, his beautifully soft curls, to draw his face up to meet her own, could have him _inside_ of her in a matter of moments. And the thought alone has her clench hard around nothing, is enough to make her cry out with desperate want.

But instead she grips the fabric of the blanket underneath her and reminds herself of why she must be patient. She recalls the recent memory of him, her sweet Mandalorian, still flushed from his release, gently helping her up from where she had knelt before him on the forest floor. She remembers his shy way of asking if it was possible to please her in the same way. How he had thrown his helmet on to hide his face when he asked if it was something she _liked_ , and if so, would she teach him.

Omera had thought to question what had inspired this request, had it in mind to mention that she was quite satisfied by the recent developments in their level of intimacy, was going to suggest that they maybe discuss how he was feeling about it. Only he continued on, and not even his helmet could quite mask the way his voice shook when he confessed that he wanted to try, wanted to learn, that he had _thought_ about it before. Omera found herself struck speechless as he haltingly and endearingly explained that if she would let him, he might like to press his mouth against her and make her fall apart on his tongue. But he just didn't know _how_. 

It had been all she could do to only lift his helmet and kiss him breathless, rather than take him up on his offer right then and there.

Which is how they ended up here, days later, Omera sprawled out at the edge of his cot, her clothes scattered across the barn floor and an armor-less Mandalorian kneeling between her legs.

It is only their first lesson and she knows she must set aside her lust for the sake of both parties involved. That she must force herself to be patient for the common good.

At the moment, however, it feels like such a monumental task. 

When he had first put his mouth on her, he had groaned so loudly and had been shaken so completely that he was forced to pause, his forehead resting gently against her thigh as he caught his breath. It had taken him several long moments before he was ready to begin again, shooting her a sheepish expression that she had immediately kissed away.

"Just start slowly and be gentle," she had whispered against his lips before he kissed a trail down her body. 

He had taken her direction on with relish, watching her with his dark eyes as her head fell back against the sheets. He proceeded to explore her intimately with his tongue, experimenting here and tasting there and taking in her every response. 

Omera thought she might let him explore forever as long as he kept doing _that_.

“Okay, okay,” she mutters breathlessly, opening her eyes to focus at the task at hand.

He immediately desists, his head popping up from her center, his eyes burning as they find hers. He looks careful, though, and his near absolute stillness reveals his nervousness, his uncertainty. And so when she sits up and reaches for his hand, she sends him a gentle, encouraging smile and kisses his knuckles softly.

"That was good," she whispers. "You did well." 

He doesn't say anything, but she thinks he looks relieved. 

Cheeks flushing, she wets her lips before slowly drawing one of his fingers into her mouth, then another. Omera averts her eyes as she wraps her tongue around them, pushing them as far down her throat as she can manage. Then she hallows out her cheeks and gives them a good suck.

She hears him make a choking sound.

When she meets his eyes, he looks almost pained. 

“Okay?” she asks, voice full of concern.

He swallows, then nods. “Good.”

Omera holds his gaze as she slowly brings his damp hand to her core. It occurs to her then that this is the first opportunity they’ve had to take their time. Most of their encounters are rushed affairs, where the business of the day is served up with expediency rather than leisure—clothes and armor removed in so far as they got in the way. This is only the third time she’s been completely naked in front of him. And certainly the first time in broad daylight.

So it is not lost upon her, this luxury of time, and Omera hopes to make the most of it.

She explains that he’ll have to work up to getting both fingers in, tells him what he could do or _find_ that would make the experience even more enjoyable for her. She does her best to explain that the _build up_ is just as important as the release. And while Omera is certainly no prude herself, putting to words all the ways that he could give her pleasure has her embarrassment on full display.

But when she is finished, he merely looks at her and gives her a single solemn nod. There is determination in the set of his jaw, resolve drawn in the lines of his forehead, and Omera isn’t quite convinced that he hasn’t taken her words as some sort of directive. As a set of orders laid out before him.

At her small nod of encouragement, she feels him insert one of his fingers, tentatively dragging it slowly along her walls. She’s wet from his earlier administrations, but she’s still tight, and she fights to keep her moan back as he sinks into her, her teeth cutting across her lower lip.

“Are you okay?” he asks, unsure.

Omera nods and whispers his name quietly. _Din_. It is still a new experience, being able to roll his name off her tongue, so new it is nearly erotic, but she uses it with a restraint she reserves for few things. Reverent things.

In stolen moments and whispers in the dark, she says his name and it tastes like honey in her mouth.

He pulls his finger out slowly before pushing back into her, this time with more intention. He is watching her, taking in her every small movement, every gasp, every flutter of her eyelashes or twitch of her face, and while that would normally make her self-conscious, make her want to hide, there is something about him, and the absolute trust that she’s placed in him, that opens the door for Omera to bask in his undivided attention. To be flattered by his gaze.

She does not look away.

And because he is watching her so keenly, he seems to recognize by the movement of her hips that she is ready for more, and slips another finger in without her having to ask. And the stretch is new all over again, and this time she does gasp aloud, only for her breath to be stolen by his mouth on hers.

His kiss is plundering, his tongue seeking her own as his fingers thrust in and out of her in a steady rhythm that leaves her shaking. Omera breaks the kiss, overwhelmed, and clings to his shoulders as he kisses down the column of her neck.

Omera knows that she isn’t the only one affected, can feel the way he pants against her skin, his warm breath mixing with her own as she tries to draw air to her increasingly breathless lungs. He ducks his head lower, leaves a wet trail across her collarbones and down her sternum.

And when he latches on to her nipple, she gasps and arches her back and presses herself against his mouth.

“Oh, Din,” she cries out helplessly.

Omera tugs at his shirt, is desperate to feel his warm bare skin. He has to momentarily withdraw from her to pull it off, and she whines at the loss. But then he’s right back with her, his broad chest against hers and his fingers sliding through her folds has her keening in want. 

He becomes daring at her response, his thumb brushing experimentally against her sensitive nub. Omera lets out a broken curse as the world spins and flips. She feels him catch her, his arm snaking around her shoulders to ease her down against the softness of the bed. He plays with her, just like that, his mouth and free hand wreaking havoc on her sensitive skin as he mouths and pulls at her breasts.

In his arms and under his care, the heat of her arousal is so acute, she knows she needs more.

“Your mouth,” she whispers urgently. And then, as if to soften the demand, “Please.”

He begins to retract his hand, but a quick snap close of her legs prevents him from withdrawing. He looks up at her, his brow furrowed in question.

“No, no,” she says, shaking her head. “Your mouth, _too_ ,” she explains. Omera knows she sounds desperate and needy, can hear it in her own voice, but her whole body feels like it is on fire, too wound up and straining for release that she can’t help but plead with him and hope he’ll understand.

His gaze briefly falls to where his thumb has found her clit again, proceeding to rub a sweet circle around it. She whimpers under his touch. He leans forward slowly, almost teasingly, and Omera props herself up on her elbows to watch him, her whole body on edge. He brings his eyes up to meet her gaze as he finally replaces his thumb with the tip of tongue while, at the same moment, he thrusts his fingers deep inside of her.

She collapses against the bed.

“Oh, yes,” she moans. “Din, just like that.”

He grows confident under her praise, experimenting with a roll of his tongue and a flick of his wrist as his fingers thrust into her with abandon. She tries to give him some direction about what she likes, but finds that her words fail her. It doesn’t much matter though, because he seems to already know how to draw out her pleasure. Already knows just how to make her come apart. 

Omera is openly moaning now between exclamations of praise. She grips the blanket and gives over to his ministrations completely. She feels the tension just behind her belly button, the heat curling inside her and making her delirious with want. She is aware of nothing, absolutely nothing beyond the intimacy of his bed, the extent of her body and the things he does to it. Nothing exists but the feeling and sensations he draws from her.

She glances down at him, his dark head snug between her thighs and his eyes trained wholly on her.

He is perfect and her heart is full of him.

The thought itself sends a surge of heat to her throbbing core and she knows she is close.

Abandoning the sheets, Omera snakes a hand down to run through his hair, gripping his curls slightly as he swirls his tongue around her clit. Her thighs are shaking and he has to bring a hand to her thighs to keep her steady against his mouth.

“Please, Din,” she begs, tugging his face more fully against her. “Oh, please. Please, _suck_.”

He does.

And she almost screams out her release.

When it is all over, when she’s come down from her high, Omera finds herself boneless and pliant and gathered in his arms, the both of them lying on the narrow cot. His hair is a mess—her own doing, and she finds she likes that he looks a little wrecked—and his dark eyes glitter with pleasure. Across his face is a small, self-satisfied smile.

“Good?” he asks, just in case.

She laughs at this. Let it not be said that he was not a diligent student. Or that he couldn't take direction. Omera reaches up and draws him in for a kiss, tasting herself on his tongue. “Very good,” she mumbles approvingly.

“Thank you,” he says.

She blinks up at him. Of course he would thank her for letting him give her one of the best orgasms she’s ever had in her life. She is gratified by his attention, by his want of her, but also by his gentleness, by his quiet goodness. Utterly charmed, Omera shakes her head, hopeless against him. If she weren't already resigned to her feelings, Omera might have been concerned that this man was going to ruin her.

Instead, she smiles up at him. “I can’t wait for our next lesson.” 

**Author's Note:**

> come tumbl with me: clio-in-retrograde


End file.
